


It's Not You, It's Me

by nagi_schwarz



Series: Foxtrot [18]
Category: Stargate Atlantis, The Dollhouse - Fandom
Genre: Crossover, Dollhouse-level non-con, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-13
Updated: 2016-03-13
Packaged: 2018-05-26 13:51:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6241951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nagi_schwarz/pseuds/nagi_schwarz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the comment_fic prompt: Any, any M/F, Regrets Only. Tag to Epiphany. There's a reason Teer never saw much more than a kiss between herself and John Sheppard.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Not You, It's Me

They both knew it was coming before it happened. She'd known it was coming for years, and John wasn't sure he could live up to a lifetime of anticipation, but he leaned in and kissed her anyway. He wasn't kidding about that abandonment complex. His friends had left him alone for months on end, the people of the cloister kept leaving him to face the invisible beast alone, and he was cut off from Atlantis. That was the worst. Being away from her for short bursts while he was on missions was one thing, but he missed her. Whenever he closed his eyes to meditate, he reached for her, and she was gone.  
  
But when he kissed Teer, _she_ was there, present, in his arms. She reached for the hem of his shirt, and he let her, and that was when the panic kicked in.  
  
The last time he'd been with a woman was Chaya, and it had gone so wrong so fast --  
  
No. The imprints were silent. And Teer was clairvoyant, not psychic. She'd never have to know about them.  
  
Just how much had she seen in her visions, anyway? Her hands were unerring as she divested him first of his boots, then his trousers. She urged him up onto the bed, and then she began to undress herself, and –  
  
Panic slammed through John. He hadn't done _this_ \- since Nancy. Years ago.  
  
Revulsion bubbled in his throat, and he scrambled away from Teer. She must have misread him, because she crawled up the bed after him.  
  
John closed his eyes and tried to breathe. The last time he'd done this for himself, voluntarily, not just because he'd been brainwashed into marrying a woman paid to babysit him, was back in college. At a party. He'd been drunk. The girl had been drunk.  
  
Teer slithered up his body and straddled his thighs, pulled him in for a kiss, and then she stopped.  
  
"John? Are you all right?"  
  
Dammit. That kiss had gone so well. Kisses always went well. It was what came after that was always a disaster. Was he doomed to a lifetime of only regret, and never reciprocation? John shook his head. "Teer, I'm sorry. I - I can't do this."  
  
She blinked at him. "You don't know how?" She started to draw back. "Surely a man of your age --" And then she glanced downward. "Or you mean you are actually unable --"  
  
John was too panicky to attempt to defend his virility.  
  
She sighed and sat back, drew her robe closed. "I always assumed I never saw much past the kiss so that the act itself would be an experience without expectation. I never thought --"  
  
John dragged his knees up to his chest, scrubbed a hand over his face. "Never thought I'd say this, but it's not you, it's me."  
  
Teer stroked his hair gently. "Perhaps you needed to be here as much as we need you here. Come, sit with me. I will teach you how to release your burdens."  
  
John remembered Atlantis's offer to delete the other imprints and wondered if he should have taken her up on it (but he couldn't, because he was an imprint too, and --)  
  
"I'm no good at meditating," he said.  
  
Teer tugged on his hand. "Sit up. Try."  
  
John sat up obediently. "I'm sorry," he said quietly.  
  
The serenity and understanding in Teer's smile made him want to scream. "Do not apologize. We owed each other nothing. Now close your eyes, and breathe."  
  
John considered, for a fleeting moment, letting one of the imprints take over. Most of them had been programmed as skillful, responsive lovers. He could do that for her.  
  
But he was pretty sure he'd hate himself when it was done.  
  
So he closed his eyes and breathed (and wished he hadn't been so panicky, years later, when he was trying to teach Rodney to meditate).


End file.
